


Seekers

by westernredcedar



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Dragons, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, M/M, Romance, quidditch boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-23
Updated: 2013-08-23
Packaged: 2017-12-24 10:30:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/938922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westernredcedar/pseuds/westernredcedar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Hospital is a surprising place to meet the person you will spend the rest of your life with, but who can predict such things. </i><br/>Light-hearted, smutty romance, with a touch of angst, between two boys who, not surprisingly, have quite a lot in common, including winding up in hospital together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. No Need for Being Sorry

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the fabulous schemingreader for her amazing beta abilities. All remaining errors are all mine.  
> This was written for a 7spells claim in 2007.  
> Because it got quite cloying in such volume, I have chosen not to write Viktor's dialogue in the dialect JKR used in canon, but I attempted to preserve an accent for him in other ways.

Hospital is a surprising place to meet the person you will spend the rest of your life with, but who can predict such things. 

Charlie had been alone in the room for a day when his roommate was wheeled in, flat on his back. The new patient didn’t even look in his direction. Charlie, doped up from pain relieving spells, was reclined in his bed, his upper body wrapped in fresh bandages. He could only make out the hazy image of a dark haired man being moved into the bed, lying very still. 

There was a buzz around the new patient from the first moments: an extra healer or two, aides who seemed to just be there to look on, curious faces peeking in the door a regular intervals. Even in his altered state, Charlie noticed that his new companion received more attention than he did. He was, after all, only a careless dragon-keeper with a nasty burn. 

After the flurry of visitors died down, Charlie tried to start up a conversation. 

“What are you here for, mate?” he asked, turning his head on his pillow to face the still form in the next bed. 

There was no reply. 

“Oi, are you awake?” Charlie asked quietly, peering over to see if his neighbor’s eyes were open or closed. They were open. “It’s a new form of hell to be here, but nothing to do for it now, eh? We’re stuck.” 

He looked again. “You all right…?” he asked. 

A heavy, deeply accented voice interrupted him. “Please do not speak now.” 

“Oh sure, sorry.” Charlie leaned back. So much for a friendly companion to help him pass the weeks of rehabilitation he was facing. At least the man was honest, didn’t let him go on and on when he wanted quiet. Charlie could appreciate that. 

He learned quickly that if you wanted honesty, there was no one better than Viktor Krum. 

 

The healer’s aide assigned to their room was an enormously tall, thin witch named Irina. Although Charlie tried repeatedly, she refused to even smile at him, no matter how much Weasley charm he poured on. She marched in every hour, thick stockings rasping together under her robes, checked his status, and repositioned him on the bed. The iron grip of her fingers was enough to leave a mark as she rolled and adjusted him to alleviate pressure on the worst parts of his burn. 

Just after she had left the room the next morning, Charlie heard the deep, accented voice from the next bed ask, “Do you like that woman?” 

“Who, The Claw?” Charlie responded. 

“The aide,” said the still figure. 

“I call her The Claw,” said Charlie. 

For the first time, the man in the next bed turned his head slightly and looked towards Charlie. “Why do you call her such a name?” he asked. 

“The first time she rolls you around like a bloody rag doll, you’ll know why,” said Charlie, smiling. 

“Ah. She seems to me to be quite effective.” 

Considering all the he had heard from his neighbor so far was an abrasive command for silence, Charlie took the comment with a grain of salt. 

“Eh, she’s alright. Wants to help you get well, that I’m sure,” said Charlie. 

“That is good.” It was quiet again. “I will also call her The Claw.” 

Charlie raised his eyebrows. He looked towards the other bed. “I’m Charlie, by the way, burned by dragon fire.” He pointed to his arm and torso, swathed in bandages. “Sorry I’m too far off to shake your hand.” 

“I am Viktor Krum,” the head said to the ceiling. “Back broken by Bludger.” 

“Oh,” Charlie said, trying to hide his surprise. “Sorry.” 

He knew who Viktor was, of course. He had watched him play, seen him catch the snitch at the Quidditch World Cup, followed his skyrocketing career. Charlie had given up his professional Quidditch dreams years before, but he still envied those who had been able to make it. He would never have connected the cocky super-star he had watched over the years with the morose lump lying flat on his back in the next bed. Now that he knew, he studied his profile and recognized the heavy brow, large nose, and sturdy jaw he had both admired and resented. 

He had not heard about Krum’s accident. Of course, he had been busy getting roasted by that rowdy Welsh Green. 

“I am already feeling my legs again. They have regrown the spinal column, now I will be in the rehabilitation,” Viktor explained. “No need for being sorry.” 

Rehabilitation. That was why his team at the reservation had sent Charlie to this clinic. It was a good distance south of the colony, in an isolated part of Greece along the coast of the Thracian Sea, but it was closer than being sent all the way home to England, and was the best facility of its kind in Eastern Europe. They specialized in long term healing, physical therapy for wizards and witches with recent trauma. His burns had been severe, and even with quick spell work and early healing at the reservation, he now had enormous scars forming across his back and shoulder, down his left arm, and up the side of his neck. Some areas of skin were still ugly and blistered, some still blackened. When the pain spells wore off, the agony was intense. 

“No need to be sorry for me either,” Charlie responded. 

“I will not be, then.” Viktor Krum settled back into silence. Charlie sighed and turned back to staring at the fascinating blank wall in front of him, trying not to dwell on where his life had led him. 

 

Later that afternoon, Charlie got his first hints of what was to come. 

The Claw stomped into the room and unceremoniously pulled the sheet back from Viktor’s body. 

“Time to walk,” she stated. With her tong-like fingers she rolled Viktor to his side and slid his legs off the edge of the bed. Charlie watched out of the corner of his eye. The Claw’s ministrations were often humiliating, and he didn’t want to embarrass Viktor on their first day. He found, however, that after a brief glimpse, he could not stop himself from turning to stare. 

Viktor was dressed only in loose hospital issue pants. His upper body was bare. As The Claw maneuvered him around, the highly toned muscles of Viktor’s athletic torso moved under his dark skin. Charlie could see every line of them. Viktor had a thin crop of hair that started on his chest, traveled in a thin line down his flat belly, and disappeared under the drawstring at his hips. His arms and shoulders were massive. Charlie remembered from his own days at Seeker the physical effort it took to hold steady on a broom with one arm. Viktor had a slight slouch, was a bit asymmetrical, imperfect. His face was harsh, not really beautiful, but strong, firm. 

Viktor Krum glowed with energy, with exertion, with masculinity, even sitting limply on a hospital bed. He radiated sex. Charlie’s cock roared to life, he was forced to rotate his hips under his sheet to avoid embarrassment. He had not felt a single stir of desire since his accident, since that morning. Well, he was drenched in desire now. He went back to looking only from the corner of his eye, hoping to alleviate the sudden urgency in his body, Viktor’s physical presence hitting him like a tidal wave. 

The Claw had managed to manipulate Viktor’s body into a sitting position. She raised him up, her long arms snaking under his, and they moved into the room. Viktor was stiff and upright, holding himself awkwardly. As they took halting steps, Charlie couldn’t help noticing the outline of Viktor’s prick, swinging loose behind the thin pants. That did not help. 

It may have been his imagination, but Charlie could have sworn he saw Viktor’s eyes flick over to him in his bed as they walked, just for a moment. 

There were weeks to go, sharing this small room. As The Claw moved Viktor back into the bed, Charlie sighed, closed his eyes, and thought of England. 

 

Later, Charlie was horribly ashamed of himself. There were thousands of squealing Quidditch fans lusting after Viktor Krum, and now he was one of the predictable throng. He would just have to get over it. 

Happily, he was distracted that evening by visitors, his parents and Bill. 

Trust Bill to make an impression. He walked in, glanced at Charlie’s roommate, and exclaimed, “Holy shit, Viktor Krum!” 

“Bill, language!” Molly Weasley said, eyes ablaze. She was carrying a large basket of what Charlie could only hope was home-cooked food. His father was following behind with a vase of sunflowers from the garden at The Burrow. Charlie smiled. 

“Mum, I’m 30 years old,” Bill responded, and winked at Charlie, striding with his long legs over to where Viktor lay flat. “Honor to meet you. Sorry about what’s happened.” He shook Viktor’s hand. “We saw you fly at the World Cup. I’m Bill.” 

“Viktor, allow me to introduce my mother and father, Molly and Arthur Weasley. You have met my idiot brother already.” Charlie looked over at the figure in the opposite bed, and was pleased to see that he was looking out at the Weasley family without malice. 

“Hello,” Viktor said in his deep tone. He nodded slightly to each of the visitors. The Weasleys smiled back at him and then turned their eyes to Charlie. 

“Charlie, oh Charlie,” Molly crooned, trotting over, kissing his cheeks, and brushing her hand through his red hair, a sweet, sad, smile on her face. She pulled a chair up next to his bed and grabbed his hand. “You look so much better today. Are they feeding you well here? How do you feel? Do your bandages need to be changed?” 

Charlie had spent much of his adult life trying to get clear of his over-bearing mother. Dragons in Romania had been a lovely excuse to stay away from home for long periods. He was a success, he was happy, he owled home every Sunday, and she didn’t worry. She also never had the chance to ask too many probing questions about his lack of girlfriends and not settling down and who’s that man I always see you with. It was a mutually beneficial situation, although Molly was unaware of how much so. 

Being ill, however, was a different matter. There was nowhere Charlie would rather be when hurt than home, his doting mother tending to his every need. The impersonal care of The Claw encouraged his body to recover, but his spirit truly needed the love of his family. He almost wept at his mother’s blathering questions. 

Arthur sat at the foot of his bed and laid a soothing hand on his foot. 

“How are you, m’boy?” he asked. 

“Getting better already, really. This is a great place.” 

Bill took a seat on the opposite side of his bed, kicking his long legs out as he relaxed into the chair. “I suppose you did this to gain some dragon-keeper cred. Scars to prove yourself.” His tone was joking, but Charlie knew his brother well enough to see the underlying love and concern. 

“Yeah, it was some real macho bullshit, Bill,” he replied, and Molly muttered a horrified, “Charlie!” 

“You are a fucking _man_ now,” Bill replied, grinning, waiting for the predictable, escalating “Bill!” 

They stayed for an hour, just chatting, and Charlie basked in the warmth of home. Bill brought him some logic games from Egypt to pass the time. His father had collected a week’s worth of Daily Prophets for him to read. His mother hung up a few of his old posters she had taken from his room at home. 

“Mum, those are ancient,” he laughed, as she unfurled an image of the 1985 Chudley Cannons. He glanced over to Viktor, who appeared unfazed. It was better than staring at the blank wall. The basket was indeed filled with meat pies, and homemade toffees, and fruit from the garden. They included Viktor in the conversation when they could, and Molly kissed him on the cheek as they went to depart. 

After the three visitors left, Viktor turned his head slightly to Charlie and said, “You are lucky.” 

“I know,” Charlie replied, taking a juicy bite of plum. “You too, you know. If you play your cards right, you’ll have Molly bringing you your own baskets of food by the time we are out of this place. She’s a pushover.” 

“I have no such love in my life.” There was Viktor’s honesty again. It sucked the air out of Charlie’s lungs. 

“Millions of people love you, Viktor.” It sounded lame even to Charlie's ear. 

“It is not the same.” 

Viktor indicated the Cannons poster, changing the subject. “Did you have a favorite on that squad?” 

“Sure, Brackenbury. As a kid, I always favored the Keeper.” 

“Foolish of you, when you could have admired Tyler. He was a world-class Seeker,” Viktor replied. 

“Don’t misunderstand. I loved them all,” Charlie said with a grin. “I know now, of course, that Seekers are always the ones to watch.” 

Viktor turned away, but Charlie was sure he saw a brief smile. 

“So what did your mother bring for us to eat?” Viktor asked. 

They changed the subject to food and eating, Charlie tossed Viktor a plum, and so their friendship began. 

 

Healing was exhausting. There were long stretches of each day in which Charlie could do nothing but lie there, staring ahead, letting his body be still, repair itself. It was exquisite tedium. His family members stopped in every few days. The Claw made her appearances, forced him into agonizing positions to stretch his scars, loosen his wounded muscles. His healer came by, poked and prodded and added spells and potions to his chart. 

But most days, most of the time, it was just him and Viktor. As the weeks passed, Charlie was pleased to discover that he sincerely enjoyed Viktor’s company. He could be abrasive, but he was smart, and open, and willing to fight the language barrier to communicate. He enjoyed talking about Quidditch strategy, did not seem at all patronizing when Charlie told him about his glory days as Gryffindor House Seeker. Viktor liked to read, to exercise. He liked the outdoors, was curious about Charlie’s life with the dragons. They were both eager to heal quickly, felt pent up and frustrated, and jumped at every opportunity to get up and move, to go outside. 

Charlie was able to suppress his raw desire, most of the time. 

Viktor was a physical man. He kneaded at Charlie’s stiff neck sometimes when they sat together, unasked. He taught Charlie new exercises by touching his limbs, moving them into the proper position. He slung an arm over his shoulder for support if they walked together, sometimes bending his elbow and letting his hand sit in Charlie’s hair. 

If Charlie happened to think of those moments as he quietly brought himself off in the dark of the night, well, that was just what Charlie needed to do. 

Sometimes, Charlie thought he would catch Viktor staring at him, but it was probably just his imagination. 

They were friends. They were healing.


	2. The Reward

They were brought out to the seashore one day as a part of their rehabilitation. The sun, the fresh air, the chance to breathe deep and feel normal again, all meant to speed the final stages of their healing. 

The Claw was assigned to sit near the small group of patients as a chaperone. 

“What do they think we might do that would require us to be chaperoned?” asked Charlie under his breath to Viktor. They were on a blanket, Viktor in a low chair that supported his back, Charlie reclining slightly on his elbow. 

“Dance party,” said Viktor in his deadpan. Charlie grinned. The bright blue of the Mediterranean stretched before them like cool glass. 

The sun was warming, and the two men sat in companionable silence for many minutes, eyes shut, listening to the waves. 

“You should take off your shirt,” Viktor said, and Charlie shivered. Viktor had stripped down to his swim trunks when they arrived, with the assistance of The Claw- pulling a shirt over his head was still a challenge. Charlie had been struggling to avoid staring at his shoulders, chest, and stomach, shiny with sweat, still dark and toned, even after weeks in hospital. The visceral presence of him was vivid in the sunlight. 

“Nah,” replied Charlie. 

“It is warm, you will feel good,” Viktor encouraged. 

“I don’t want…I’m not…” Charlie pointed to the ugly red scarring that was visible on his neck and down the back of his arm. 

“You are ashamed of your scars?” Leave it to Viktor to be blunt and to the point. He continued, “I don’t mind to see, and I believe The Claw has seen all before, yes?” Charlie had to nod. “You will feel good with the sun on your skin. There is no one who cares.” 

Charlie considered for a moment, looking over at the few other patients who were ranged along the shore, and back at The Claw, who loomed over the beach, sunglasses perched on her beaky nose, under a large beach umbrella. He took a deep breath, pulled his shirt over his head, and tossed it onto the blanket. He was still proud of his trim, fit, freckled body, soft red hair on his chest, spiral dragon tattoo curling on his hip bone. He didn’t have to see the scars on his own back. He looked over at Viktor and smiled. 

“That does feel bloody brilliant,” he said. He closed his eyes again and turned his face to the sun, letting the warmth seep into him. 

Charlie felt an odd pressure on his wounds. He opened his eyes and turned his head. It was Viktor. He had leaned over from his chair and was gently running his fingers over the thick scarring on Charlie’s back, where the burns had been the worst. Charlie could feel his touch as only a vague sensation, like a tickle. 

“It is not so bad,” Viktor said, and Charlie continued to feel the fingers investigating the irregular red skin. His hand moved slowly, smoothly over the surface of his back, stopping to probe the ridges and folds of each scar. “Does this hurt?” 

“I can hardly feel it. Only a few nerves left, I’m afraid,” responded Charlie, trying to keep his voice steady. The trailing fingers sent small shocks of pleasure through his body. It was intensely intimate to have his wound so carefully caressed, he was shocked at his body’s immediate response. He pulled away slightly, and Viktor removed his hand. 

“I apologize,” Viktor said. 

“No, not at all, just feels a bit weird is all,” Charlie muttered, trying to calm his heart, which was beating rather rapidly. 

They reclined in silence again for some time. 

Viktor eased himself up from his chair, in the slow, deliberate motion required by his back injury. He called back to The Claw. “May we swim?” 

The Claw glared. “You may, but only to the buoy.” She pointed at a small yellow buoy a short distance from the shore. 

Viktor looked down at Charlie with a glimmer in his eyes. “We may swim, but only to the buoy,” he repeated, and raised his heavy eyebrows, a slight upturn at the corners of his mouth. Charlie recognized that he had been challenged. 

 

Charlie did not even look towards Viktor until he knew he was well past the yellow buoy and a good distance out into the small bay. The tight skin on his shoulder and back had resisted the motion of his strokes at first, but as he warmed up and got into the rhythm, he felt himself loosen up, move more freely. He had always been a strong swimmer, loved to plunge into mountain lakes and rivers when he was out in the wilderness with his dragons. 

When he pulled up to see where he was, he found that Viktor was only a short distance behind him. It took a few strokes for him to catch up and then he stopped as well, treading water near Charlie. 

Looking back towards shore, they could see the miniature figure of The Claw emerging from under her umbrella, arms crossed, glaring out at them and walking firmly towards the water’s edge. 

“Do you suppose she will swim out after us?” Charlie asked. 

“I believe she would like to try, but she will decide to wait on shore to deliver our punishment,” Viktor replied. He smirked and Charlie grinned. 

“Can you go farther?” Charlie asked, catching his breath. 

With grim seriousness, Viktor said, “I can always.” Charlie considered for a moment that he might be seeing a hint of Viktor’s Quidditch game face. Charlie tried to put on his own. 

“Care for a race?” 

“I always enjoy a competition,” Viktor responded. He indicated a small red buoy not too far from them, bobbing in the sea. “To the red marker.” 

“What does the winner get?” asked Charlie. 

“The glory,” said Viktor quickly, and Charlie realized he wasn’t joking. 

“And some sort of reward. What do you say winner gets to choose their prize,” Charlie suggested. 

Viktor nodded. “Agreed.” 

They lined themselves up and Viktor counted down from three in Bulgarian. As they swam, Charlie could feel the stir of water near him. Viktor was close. It was not a long distance to the red buoy, but he was tiring quickly. He had been stuck in that blasted hospital bed for too long. With a burst of energy, he stretched out his hand to touch the buoy. Moments later, another hand, Viktor’s hand, crushed on top of his. 

They were both gasping for air, grabbing on to the buoy as support. 

“It was very close,” conceded Charlie.

Viktor only nodded. “You were the winner, it was a fair race,” he huffed. 

They hung on the buoy for a minute, just breathing, before Charlie realized that Viktor’s hand was still on top of his, holding on, his thick, dark fingers tucked between his own coarse, freckled ones. He was staring at that point of connection when he felt an even more enticing sensation. 

Under the water, as they allowed their bodies to float and recover, Viktor’s leg kicked against Charlie’s thigh. Brushing against Viktor’s cool skin sent a jolt of pleasure through his body. Charlie adjusted his legs a little, hoping to steal more pleasant, accidental skin contact. Then, on impulse, he tangled one foot behind Viktor’s knee and held it there. 

Viktor looked at him, and to Charlie’s surprise, didn’t pull his leg away. In fact, unless it was his imagination, Viktor moved his body a little closer, and rubbed his toes intentionally against the back of Charlie’s thigh. 

Recklessly, Charlie wrapped his legs around Viktor’s waist. He froze as he felt Viktor bring his knees up on either side of Charlie’s hips, gripping his body. 

It was brief, but in the moment Charlie was sure they were both aware of each other’s enjoyment in the physical contact. Charlie didn’t breathe, looked curiously into Viktor’s dark eyes. Without a word they both moved away, broke eye contact. Charlie allowed his legs to float up behind him to the surface of the water, away from Viktor. 

“Is your back holding up?” he asked, looking out into the distance, trying to control his pounding heart. 

“I believe I should rest,” Viktor replied, also staring vaguely away. Charlie was relieved. His scarred skin felt ready to shatter. 

“I should as well,” he admitted. He knew that Viktor was not one to admit weakness lightly, and neither was he, so they slowly made their way back to shore, taking breaks, paddling near each other at a mild pace. Charlie turned over onto his back and gently stroked towards the beach, staring up at the blue, cloudless sky. He felt weightless, something important had just happened. His toes tingled and his mind could focus on nothing but the soothing sounds of the water lapping against his body, and his acute awareness of Viktor’s body in the water next to him. 

 

The Claw expressed her displeasure with them as they returned to the beach through a series of glares, lip pursings, arm foldings, and toe tappings. But, Charlie thought, she had to be a bit pleased. Her patients were recovered enough to disobey her and swim out too far. He grinned at her and winked. Her eyes reduced to slits and her lips disappeared into a thin line, but, unless it was his imagination, she also, very subtly, winked back. 

On the trip back to the clinic, Viktor and Charlie sat together, their thighs and hips touching. They were tired, Viktor slept a little, leaned his dark head against Charlie’s shoulder. When he woke up, Charlie was staring out the window of the clinic bus, but he felt it, Viktor’s fingers brushing lightly along his thigh, he was sure of it. He didn’t move, taking in the sensation. Then, Viktor sat up, moved his body away. They rode on. 

 

“I’ve been thinking about my reward, for the race,” Charlie said later, when they were both lying comfortably back in their starched sheets at the hospital. He had been thinking, all afternoon, about defined muscles, and water beads slipping along the small of a back, and cool skin touching his under the water. Those toes along his thigh, gripping knees, fingers on the bus, it couldn’t be chance, was worth the risk. He had been half-hard all afternoon thinking about it. 

“Have you made a selection?” Viktor asked. He was reclining on two pillows, his arms folded up behind his head, his thick, muscular arms, each with a heavy thatch of black hair underneath. The bodily charisma Charlie had felt when they first met was on full force. Viktor was exerting a gravitational pull. 

Charlie stood up from his bed, and walked to the door, turning the lock. The Claw would have to wait outside. When he looked back, Viktor was staring at him from under his thick dark lashes, heavy brows questioning. 

“I want to try something,” said Charlie. He pulled off his pajama top as he walked towards the side of Viktor’s bed. Viktor’s eyes were alert, following him. 

Charlie sat on the edge of Viktor’s bed and leaned his face in so that they were eye to eye only a few inches apart. He whispered, “You can tell me to sod off any time and I will.” Then he leaned in and pressed his lips against the thick full lips of Viktor Krum. 

Viktor responded immediately, freeing his hands, and pulling them into Charlie’s hair, softening his lips and opening them just enough for his tongue to flick out and tickle Charlie’s. Charlie pulled back after a moment to look at Viktor. 

“Have you ever kissed a bloke like that before?” Charlie asked. 

“Yes,” said Viktor, his voice soft. 

“Do you want me to kiss you again?” he asked. 

“Yes.” 

Charlie leaned in, resting his hands on Viktor’s chest, feeling the solid, contoured muscle under his palms. This kiss was more firm, less tentative, tongues probing, teeth clashing. 

Charlie brushed his fingers along Viktor’s jawline. “As my reward,” he whispered, “I want you to lay back and let me have my way with you.” 

Viktor was an international Quidditch star, and Charlie wasn’t naïve enough to think he was the first to propose such a thing to him. But looking at Viktor’s face now, Charlie wondered. His expression was shy, and rather overwhelmed. 

He said in a low voice, “That seems like a reward for me and not for you.” 

“Oh no, there you are dead wrong,” Charlie replied with a grin, and leaned in for another kiss. He pulled himself onto the bed, straddling Viktor’s stomach, pressing him down. 

Viktor’s eyes were shining black, staring at him in what appeared to be disbelief. 

Charlie allowed his hands to drift down Viktor’s chest and shoulders, pulling up his shirt, his greedy hands at last touching the skin and muscle that had taunted him for weeks. Viktor tensed with his first touch, then relaxed and let out a small sigh. 

Charlie’s mouth followed his fingers, trailing his tongue along Viktor’s collarbone, into the crevice of his arm, stopping on his hardened nipples, nose buried in his coarse chest hair. Viktor’s chest was rising and falling rapidly, his hands were moving on Charlie’s back, running over the scars, in and out of areas that had sensation. It was a teasing, lightning-strike feeling, and Charlie was instantly rock hard, resisted the urge to rub against Viktor’s leg, come immediately. 

He backed off for a moment to catch his breath. Viktor lay below him, eyes shut, wide mouth slightly open. Charlie ran his finger over the think lips, felt a darting tongue. He shivered. Viktor opened his eyes and smiled. Charlie leaned in for a slow, deep kiss, feeling Viktor’s stiff prick through the fabric of sheets and clothing. 

Charlie grinned and moved down the bed, pulling aside linens, stopping at the drawstring to Viktor’s pants, giving the bow a firm tug. It came open. Viktor grunted, shifted his hips towards Charlie. Viktor’s eyes watched him. 

Charlie looped both hands around the top of Viktor’s pajama bottoms, and pulled down, releasing his cock from the confines of layers of hospital fabrics. Charlie’s eyes widened. Viktor’s cock was gorgeous, thick and dark, achingly hard, and emerging from a heavy patch of black hair. He ran his fingertips along its length, just making an introduction. Viktor squirmed, thrusting his hips upwards. 

“Be careful of your back,” Charlie whispered. 

“I will be. Be quiet now, it is not time for a chat,” Viktor replied. Charlie nodded. 

Reaching down, Charlie cupped his hand gently under Viktor’s balls, wrapped the other hand around his thickened cock, and lowered his head to take Viktor into his mouth. 

A stream of incomprehensible Bulgarian followed. 

Charlie allowed his tongue to gently flick around the head of his prick, tasting him, breathing in his thick musky scent.   
His hands moved gently, pumping and tugging. He felt Viktor’s warm hands in his hair, pulling. 

Charlie quickened his pace, his own desperate prick rubbing against Viktor’s knees. Incredibly, Charlie could feel Viktor’s cock getting even thicker, tasted salty pre-come, took him in deep, allowed him to thrust into the moistness of his mouth. He coaxed him along, sneaking one finger to his other opening, pressing gently, was rewarded with an enormous grunt. 

Charlie pumped hard, allowed his mouth some real suction, rubbed and pulled at his balls, snuck his finger into Viktor’s tight ass. That did it. Viktor became motionless, gasping little breaths that became the smooth convulsions of orgasm, hot and sticky in Charlie’s mouth, down his throat, on his chin, dribbling onto Viktor’s smooth belly. 

Charlie moved back, wiping his mouth, but Viktor’s strong arms grabbed at him, pulled him up into a deep, long kiss. Lying across his body, Charlie could still feel Viktor’s softening prick twitching between them. 

“I want you now,” Viktor said. “Your reward.” 

“You will hurt yourself,” Charlie said, sincerely concerned. 

“Not if I remain lying here.” 

Charlie lifted his eyebrows. He pulled himself up off the bed and slowly removed his hospital pants. He felt Viktor’s eyes roving his body, taking in his thin, long prick standing at attention and to the right, as always. 

“Come back now,” Viktor ordered from the bed. 

There was an awkward adjustment as Viktor positioned Charlie so that he was straddling his head, his aching prick bobbing in Viktor’s face. 

“Will this work?” Charlie started to inquire, but didn’t get any further. 

Viktor grabbed Charlie’s ass, immediately wrapped his lips around the head of Charlie’s cock, and slid it deep down his throat. Charlie nearly collapsed onto him, but pressed his arms into the wall behind the bed, holding himself up. He gasped and threw his head back. Viktor was able to only get in three more, full, deep thrusts before Charlie was coming, pouring down his throat, convulsing with weeks of pent up tension. 

He collapsed backwards onto Viktor’s body. 

“That was, I wasn’t, I…” Viktor pulled him up and kissed him. 

“What are you saying?” he asked. 

“I’ll last longer next time,” Charlie sputtered. “You surprised me there, Krum. No fair.” 

“You swam a very good race,” Viktor replied. 

 

Well, that was that. Charlie was in it, and, it appeared, Viktor was a well. 

Viktor’s back was still fragile, so they experimented with positions and furniture and standing and sitting. Charlie had no idea how he made it through the daylight hours without touching Viktor, or being touched, as they waited for nightfall, their time. 

The Claw knew, he was fairly certain. She no longer stopped in after dark, left them alone. He caught her one day, looking at them sitting together out on the clinic lawn, and one corner of her mouth had the tiniest hint of an upturn. 

There was not much talk between them about it, just an understanding. It felt good, healthy, normal. Their bodies matched well, fit together. They didn’t discuss feelings, or the future, just lived in the blissful, simple present. 

But all good things… 

In another week, Charlie’s back was healed, the scars as flexible as they could be made. It was time for him to go home.


	3. Enter The Claw

Charlie flew back to the reservation. Flooing or apparating any distance after major physical trauma was dangerous at best and could cause serious re-injury at worst. Sitting on a broom was his best method of travel, but even that was a huge effort; his body was still so weakened. He needed to stop and rest every few miles. Misha, one of Charlie’s oldest friends at the reservation, had come down to fly back with him.

He and Viktor had said their proper goodbyes the night before, but they exchanged a chaste manly hug in front of Misha, The Claw, and the Chief Healer, who had come to see him off.

“Write to me when you arrive. I will worry, until then,” Viktor whispered.

“I will.” Charlie patted his shoulder, letting his fingers linger just a moment. “You’ll be out of here soon, mate. I’ll see you then.”

The Claw said, “Good luck. It will be difficult.” She shook his hand with her iron grip.

It was a wrench to fly off into the cool air. Charlie let himself look back at the calm oasis of the clinic only once, and could still see the small figure of Viktor looking after them.

He turned steadfastly forward, back towards the reservation, back towards his life. Oh, his life.

 

The boys at the reservation had organized a welcome home party. It was quite an event. Everyone wanted to toast him, everyone wanted to see his scars, _everyone_ wanted to hear about living with Viktor Krum. Charlie talked in circles all night. Misha, who had found and rescued Charlie, shivering and almost unconscious in the West Pen after the accident, told his elaborate story repeatedly. They drank all night, sang rousing choruses of Charlie’s favorite drinking song*. Charlie was exhausted, his shoulder ached, and he missed Viktor desperately.

It was pleasant to be back in his own small room, however, with his own things, his own clothes, his own pillow. He felt like he had been gone for a year. He felt like a different man. He penned a quick note to Viktor.

_Made it safe, place is the same, but no good without you. More tomorrow_ , and sent it off with an owl. He was asleep in a few minutes.

 

In the morning, he was startled awake by the once familiar snorts and crashes of the dragons in the nearby pens. The sound of the first loud bang woke him and he sat bolt upright and immediately broke out into a cold sweat as the noises continued. Then there was a light knock at his door.

He tensed, confused.

“Who is it?” he called. A brief fantasy that it was Viktor waiting on the other side of the door was quickly dashed when he heard a familiar, plaintive voice.

“It’s Remus. May I come in?”

Charlie sighed, deflated. Oh, his life. Remus.

“I suppose,” Charlie called, pulling himself out of bed and tugging a robe out of the wardrobe and over his head.

Remus Lupin opened the door slowly and peeked his head into the room.

“Come in,” Charlie said, avoiding walking towards the door. “I’ll make some tea.”

Remus stepped into the room, was quiet for a minute. “You look good,” he said at last.

“Thanks,” Charlie said. “It’s been hard.” He put the pot on.

“When did you get back?” Remus asked.

“Just last night, actually.” Charlie opened his canister of tea.

“Charlie,” Remus said softly.

Charlie stopped his bustling, snapped. “What, Remus? What do you want?”

Remus took the three long strides across the room and wrapped his arms around Charlie in a firm embrace. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he repeated, stroking his hair, his sensitive back. Charlie let his arms hang loose, refusing to offer an embrace in return. After a minute, he shrugged off the hug, stepped away from Remus, turned to tend the teapot.

“Thanks for coming to visit me in hospital, your support during my recovery was truly inspirational,” Charlie heard his harsh words, wished he could take them back, or make them much more cruel. He wasn’t sure which.

“I didn’t think you would want to see me,” Remus replied standing stranded and rejected in the middle of the room.

“You were right. So why would that change now?”

“I’ll go,” said Remus, turning to the door.

“No, no, please, sit down for a chat. How is Severus, anyway? I’m dying to hear all the juicy details,” Charlie replied.

“Sarcasm really doesn’t suit you, Charlie,” Remus said, pink rising in his wan cheeks.

“Well, cheating on me didn’t fucking suit you, but you managed it all the same.”

They stared at each other for a long moment. Remus was the first to look away.

“I still care about what happens to you, Charlie. About what happened. I think it might have been my fault," Remus said to the floor. “I came to say I was sorry.”

Charlie closed his eyes.

 

He knew he was being unfair to Remus, but he did blame him for his accident.

Remus had come to the reservation that morning to tell Charlie that he had decided to leave him to return to Severus Snape and to admit that he and Snape had restarted their relationship weeks earlier. That had been just before Charlie had headed out to the West Pen to tend to an ailing Welsh Green. Charlie’s two-year relationship with Remus had been on an even keel, he’d thought, no sign of trouble. He had been shocked, distracted, didn’t even tighten his body armor properly, didn’t wear his balaclava. When the Welshy started acting up, Charlie should have left the pen immediately, but his mind was elsewhere, safety protocols forgotten, and he foolishly turned his back on the ornery creature. The blast of dragon fire was a direct hit, scorching through his armor, his clothing, through his skin.

His scars were all Remus. He remembered now the soothing feeling of Viktor’s fingers tracing over them, studying them, accepting them. Let that feeling wash over him like the cool waters of the sea.

 

Charlie took a deep breath, opened his eyes. “I accept your apology.”

Remus looked up at the abrupt change in Charlie’s tone.

“I didn’t expect to see you, Remus. You surprised me. It all feels like an eternity ago now.” Charlie sighed, sitting down. Remus sat down across form him.

“I really was horribly worried about you. Bill kept me up on your progress.”

“Fucking Bill,” muttered Charlie.

“How do you feel?”

“I’m alright, now. It all aches, and the scars get stiff if I don’t stretch properly. Could have been worse.” Charlie felt Remus’s gray eyes searching along his arm, his neck, seeing the red scars.

“Look Remus, I’m really not ready to be your best mate at this point, but I’m alright. I’m better than that, actually.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“I know.” Charlie touched his hand, and Remus grabbed hold, squeezed.

He apparated away a few minutes later, leaving Charlie alone with his thoughts.

He missed Viktor.

 

He had to give The Claw her due. She said coming back would be difficult, had tried to warn him.

He had been back at the reservation for a week. He and Viktor had exchanged a few short letters. Johan was letting Charlie ease back into work, allowing him to choose his tasks and take long breaks, and setting aside a space for him to do his stretches and exercises to limber up his back and shoulder. Charlie had volunteered to stock feed, sort the veterinary supplies, clean out an empty pen, make supper for the crew, any menial task. He had yet to lay eyes on a dragon. Charlie worked all week without recognizing there was a problem.

Then Misha asked him to help transfer a juvenile Fireball to the South Pen.

Images rushed back to him, the cold steely eyes, uneven scales, the bright spot of red by the snout as it turned on him, teeth like golden knives, and then the blue flame, like a blow-torch. His body started to shake, his skin was covered in a thin sheen of icy sweat. He was terrified, panicked.

He swallowed the choking bile rising in his throat and followed Misha to the pen. The actions of his body were automatic, he had completed thousands of pen transfers in his years at the reservation. But he watched this one from above, floating out of his body and hovering, laughing at his own weakness.

He barely made it back to his room before he threw up.

Whether The Claw was expert at divination, or just expert at her job, he never learned, but only minutes later, there was knock on the door. Two figures, one tall and thin, one solid and slouching, stood waiting for him. Heart rate accelerating, Charlie stared. It was The Claw. And Viktor.

“Follow-up appointment, Mr. Weasley,” said The Claw. Giving him a clinical visual once-over, she clamped an iron hand onto his clammy forehead. “I am needed.”

Charlie could not pull his eyes from Viktor, standing in his doorway. He wanted to bury his face in his warm neck, but he couldn’t, not here, not with The Claw standing by and his nosy colleagues passing his door at regular intervals.

“Charlie,” said Viktor in his cool deep voice. “I was able to come. We took the train.” He was wearing a brace around his lower back, Charlie could see it through his robe.

“Go in while I collect my supplies. I will be five minutes.” The Claw was very precise with time. She stalked away, with a stern glance at them both.

Charlie nodded, leading Viktor in the door, shutting it behind him. They looked at each other.

“You are ill,” said Viktor.

“How are you here?” asked Charlie. They were standing awkwardly apart. Being together in this new location was taking some adjustment.

“She thought I should come,” Viktor explained, “She said I should try a journey, how my back feels.” He licked his lips. “Also, she could see I was doing less well with you absent.”

“You are doing less well?” Charlie asked.

Viktor nodded and then closed the space between them in a few stiff steps, grasping Charlie’s face between his hands and kissing him firmly on the lips. Charlie snaked his arms around Viktor’s broad back and leaned into his solid, calming presence.

“I tried to fly,” Viktor said, resting his forehead against Charlie’s.

“I’ve lost my nerve,” Charlie said in return.

“I fell,” Viktor continued.

“I can’t even look at a fucking dragon,” said Charlie.

They stood leaning together for several minutes, in the quiet bubble of trust they had generated with these admissions.

“It is something between us,” Viktor said at last. “I am better here with you.”

Charlie was overwhelmed by Viktor’s forthrightness. He could think of nothing better to say than, “Yes,” but that seemed to satisfy him.

Just then The Claw returned, exactly five minutes after she had left. She made a bit of a racket coming in the door, and the men broke apart from each other, sat in separate chairs. Charlie could feel an electric change between them.

The Claw checked Charlie for fever, gave his back a quick prodding. It was a cursory exam at best. Viktor looked on.

“Is that all?” asked Charlie.

“We have missed the last train and must stay the night,” The Claw announced as she packed her small healer’s case, “You have already greatly improved.” It was unclear which patient she was speaking to. “I will secure guest accommodations, and check with you at eight in the morning to see that you have continued to recover.”

With a hint of a smile, The Claw stalked out the door.

Charlie and Viktor exchanged a curious glance.

“No guest accommodation for me?” Viktor said, smiling.

“Have we been set up?” Charlie asked.

“She is very good. She knows what her patients need,” said Viktor, moving towards Charlie.

 

Later that night, buried deep inside Viktor, luxuriating in his meaty, solid body below him, Charlie realized it- this was the only thing working in his life at the moment. With Viktor there, he was not thinking about the horrifying blast of dragon fire, or the struggle to move his shoulder properly, or of Remus and his weaknesses, only of Viktor, of his presence, of his kind eyes, and brutal honesty, and gorgeous, needy body.

With slow, careful thrusts, he took Viktor deeper, made him his, claimed him. Viktor grabbed Charlie’s head in his hands, pulled him into a fierce kiss as Charlie came.

All of their weaknesses and failures faded into the distance with each touch.

In the morning, Charlie watched Viktor walk away with The Claw, back to the Clinic. It felt like a beginning.

 

Johan gave him a leave of absence from the reservation.

“We want you back, Charlie, you belong here. You take care of yourself and come back to us when you are ready.”

“I will,” Charlie said.

It was with relief that he flew off, towards England, towards home.

 

 

*In days of old in a kingdom bold, there lived a fearsome dragon.  
And the King he was in great distress and the country’s spirits flagoned.  
Until one day there came a knight, he was handsome, bold, and charming.  
And he slew the dragon with his sword with a smile that was so disarming.  
With a hey and a ho and a hey nany no, a smile that was so disarming.

Said the King I wish to know your name, but the knight said do not bother.  
For the name of a knight of the realm says he, is the same as any other.  
Said the King tonight in my daughter's bed you shall take your leisure.  
And she'll reward you for your deed, with a night of exhausting pleasure.  
With a hey and a ho and a hey nany no, a night of exhausting pleasure. 

One daughter she had raven hair, a maiden young and chaste.  
And she slept all night in the pale moonlight, naked to the waist.  
The other daughter she was fair, the fairest in the town.  
And she slept all night in the pale moonlight naked from her small waist down.  
With a hey and a ho and a hey nany no, naked from her small waist down. 

Well the knight he spends many an hour behind the castle wall.  
But the ending to my story dear, isn't what it seems at all.  
For in neither bed of neither maid was he repaid for his glory.  
But he slept all night with the King instead for this is a fairy story.  
With a hey and a ho and a hey nany no, for this is a Fairy story. 

“A Fairy Story”, by Unknown, source: http://www.thebards.net/music/lyrics/A_Fairy_Story.shtml


	4. At Loose Ends

There was something old-fashioned about their affair, something Charlie would never have expected from an intensely physical, sexual man like Viktor. He wrote Charlie short, crystalline love letters, on old parchment. _I do not know how I survive the days without you. I dreamed of you last night. I want to be touching you._ His simple English was an aphrodisiac to Charlie. _Viktor, you are a fucking romantic_ , Charlie wrote back from The Burrow, feeling incapable of matching his plain, sincere words. Charlie wanted to communicate with his body, but distance and illness made that too difficult.

Viktor owled a vial of sand he collected when he went back to the beach where they swam together. Charlie sent him a collection of bottle caps representing the lager he was drinking to drown his sorrows. Viktor sent back a piece of fabric clipped from his hospital robe. It smelled like him.

A month later, when he was released from hospital, Viktor’s written proposal to Charlie was formal and traditional. _I hope you will honor me by agreeing to share a flat._ He had been put on injured reserve indefinitely by the Bulgarian National Team, was at loose ends.

He was coming to England, for Charlie.


	5. Must it all be a contest?

Moving the last of the boxes, Bill put on a look of exaggerated exhaustion.

“Last time I volunteer to help a couple of poofters,” he teased, eyeing Charlie and Viktor who had both needed to stop for a rest on the sofa, their individual physical ailments draining their energy. Nothing was easy now.

Charlie had regretted telling Bill about his relationship with Viktor since the words had left his mouth in a comradely moment at The Burrow the week before.

“Fucking lay off, Bill,” Charlie replied. “It stopped being funny about four hours ago.”

“Talk back to me, and I’m telling Mum you’re not just flatmates. She’s already hurt that you are moving out and don’t need her anymore,” said Bill, sprawling out on the rug.

“Is ‘poofters’ another one?” asked Viktor from the end of the sofa where he was lying flat on his back, hand over his eyes.

“Yes,” said Charlie.

“So many words for this,” Viktor observed.

“I’m doing you a service, Viktor, teaching you good British slang,” Bill said. “Wouldn’t want you to get caught unawares.”

“Thanks, you’re a real pal,” Charlie said, rising from the sofa. “I’m going to order take-away so that we can start unpacking now.”

“No more curry,” said Viktor from the sofa.

Their flat was small, plain, run-down, in a bustling neighborhood in London. The rooms had a hint of asbestos. Viktor did control an overflowing bank account from his years in professional Quidditch, but they decided to live frugally, unsure what the future would bring either of them. They were unemployed, adrift, grabbing onto each other as a life raft.

Viktor, Bill, and Charlie sat around on the piles of boxes, eating, and joking. Bill was his best, most animated self. The brotherly night of confidences at The Burrow had included an admission from Bill that he was feeling weighed down with the three kids and a dull desk job at Gringott’s. He was taking advantage of his night out, as much as he teased and complained.

Unpacking after the quick bite was not a lengthy process. Neither Viktor nor Charlie had many personal possessions. Viktor’s only overindulgence was his collection of high-end professional brooms. Charlie had lived in a single room for almost ten years, had almost nothing. The little flat looked sparse but settled after they unpacked.

As a lark they hung up the 1985 Chudley Cannons poster in the kitchen.

Standing in the middle of the sitting room holding a celebratory beer, Viktor threw his arm over Charlie’s shoulder and kissed his cheek. Bill smiled and looked away, sipping his beer.

As he was leaving, he hugged Charlie at the door and whispered, “I am happy for you, little brother.”

“Thanks,” Charlie whispered back.

“Even if you are bent as a bottle of chips.” Bill added a chuck on the shoulder for emphasis as he walked out the door.

 

There were unexpected aspects to living with Viktor Krum.

Viktor was fastidiously neat. Charlie had never been a slob, but Viktor liked everything spotless. Charlie did not mind, as long as Viktor was willing to do the cleaning. He wasn’t always.

Viktor was used to getting his own way. He was an only child, a star athlete, the favorite student of his headmaster, a triwizard champion. He was stubborn as a Horntail if something did not please him, was skilled at getting what he wanted. Charlie was thankful to have grown up with his big family, forced to develop stellar negotiation skills and a lot of flexibility. They worked it out, as a rule.

Viktor loved morning sex. His warm groping hands and eager body roused Charlie most mornings. They worked that out as well.

Viktor was recognized everywhere they went. A trip to buy bread turned into an autograph session. Having a pint at the Owl and Thistle, a wizarding pub down the street, generated a loud and bitter debate amongst the clientele about the best Seekers in history. Charlie had no idea how many witches and wizards lived in London was until he noticed how many heads turned as they rode the Underground. Strangers regularly walked up to Viktor, patted him on the shoulder, and told him how sorry they were about his accident. Charlie was jealous of this attention for exactly one day, and then he was just glad it wasn’t happening to him.

Viktor was restless, and so was Charlie. Neither of them had been sedentary for even a short time in their lives. The slow healing of their bodies was an agonizing process for them both. Viktor was still grounded, fear of injuring himself keeping him away from his brooms. Charlie had not even considered how to prepare himself to return to the reservation. They were in a strange limbo, the future uncertain.

About half of the time, they were enough for each other.

It was Viktor who had the idea, to fill that other half of the time.

 

“It would be…what do you call?…therapy,” Viktor said.

“Pleasant associations connected to the things we are averse to?” Charlie asked, amused.

“Yes,” said Viktor.

“So you are suggesting that shagging will help us to solve our problems?” Charlie asked.

“Well,” replied Viktor with a shrug, “it cannot hurt.”

Charlie had to nod in agreement with that statement.

“You want to work with the dragons again, yes? I want to fly. We have only us. We can try. It will be our work, to help each other.” 

“I’m up for it,” said Charlie. “We’ll see which one of us does better at providing this _therapy_ , shall we?”

“Must it all be a contest with you?” asked Viktor, but he was grinning.

 

The first therapy session was that night. Obviously Viktor had already been planning.

He sent Charlie out of the flat for an hour, asking him to bring home some supper and dessert. When Charlie returned, Viktor was sitting straight-backed on the sofa reading a novel in Bulgarian, cool as a kneazle. Charlie peered around the flat, checking for things out of place, signs of what Viktor was planning. He saw nothing out of the ordinary.

An hour later, after eating supper and finishing the pudding, Charlie was starting to doubt that Viktor had planned anything at all. They cleared the table and Viktor left Charlie to finish the washing up.

As he dried the last plate, Viktor called from the bedroom. “Charlie, come here.”

Charlie wiped his hands on a dishtowel and called back, “I’m coming. What do you…?” As he walked through the door of the bedroom, he found what Viktor had been planning. Their room had been spelled into a replica of his old room at the reservation. Viktor had lowered the lighting, lit a number of candles on Charlie’s bureau, and was standing in the centre of the room, his hands folded over his chest, his legs spread wide, eyes fixed on Charlie.

Charlie peered around the room, amazed. “Fuck, Viktor, this is incredible.”

“Come here.”

Charlie was startled. Viktor’s voice was a command. Charlie looked at him with some doubt. Then, unless it was his imagination, Viktor’s brows twitched up just a millimeter, a subtle signal that Charlie should play along.

He walked towards Viktor.

“Take off my robe,” Viktor ordered.

Charlie shivered. He tended to be the one that took control in this room. Yet Viktor had ordered him around for a few seconds and Charlie immediately felt himself flush with desire. 

Charlie moved in and began to unbutton Viktor’s outer robe, sliding it off his shoulders and letting it fall to the floor. He hadn’t known that following orders would get him hard, but he was already starting to press at the buttons of his flies.

“Undress me,” Viktor commanded, and Charlie complied, pulling off Viktor’s summer undershirt. Undoing and removing his trousers, he found Viktor was hard as a rock, straining away from his body. Charlie guessed something good was coming. He pulled the trousers free of Viktor’s feet and stepped back to look at him. He was gorgeous, all dark muscles and put-on attitude. Charlie’s prick lurched.

“This is my therapy? It’s working so far,” said Charlie.

“No speaking,” Viktor ordered. “Now you undress yourself.” 

Charlie slid out of his robe and gratefully removed his constraining trousers, freeing his body. In the months he and Viktor had been together, Charlie had been taking even better care of his body than usual, trying to rebuild the muscle that he had lost during his injury and hospitalization, trying to keep up with Viktor. He felt strong now, even felt a surge of possessive pride in his scars.

Viktor walked towards him, and stopped a short distance away, tickling his fingers along the dragon tattoo curling around Charlie’s hipbone. Charlie shuddered.

“Follow me,” Viktor said, and stepped away. He walked over to the bureau, braced his arms against it, leaving his back open to Charlie. Charlie swallowed, approached. He ran his hands over Viktor’s sculpted shoulders. Viktor was fumbling in one of drawers of the bureau with one hand, removing something.

“Come close to me, look over my shoulder,” said Viktor as he placed something on the dresser in front of them.

Charlie pressed himself against Viktor’s warm body, hands running down his thick arms, chin on his shoulder.

On the dresser was a small, perfect model of a Chinese Fireball. It was loping around the top of the dresser, shooting miniscule spurts of flame, thrashing his small tail into the wood, letting out snorts of stream.

Charlie smiled at the little model.

“Does it frighten you?” asked Viktor.

“No,” said Charlie.

“Good,” said Viktor. “Then fuck me.”

Charlie let out a little groan at this command, slipping his hands down to Viktor’s ass, fingering his crack, finding that he was already lubed and ready.

Charlie fisted his own cock, searched out Viktor’s opening with his other hand, and pressed the head of his prick firmly against it. Viktor pushed back against Charlie and Charlie responded with a firm thrust. Viktor muttered a spell just as Charlie entered him, and an ear-spitting dragon roar reverberated through the room.

Charlie started, but Viktor’s commanding voice intervened. “Don’t stop. I told you to fuck me.”

Another enormous roar sounded through the room. Charlie felt the chill of his sweat as fear threatened to take him.

“Now.” Viktor demanded, reaching his arms back around Charlie, grabbing his ass, and pulling him forward.

Charlie shut his eyes, refocused on Viktor’s body in front of him, trying to ignore the snorts and snarls that were swirling through the room. He thrust in a little deeper, felt Viktor’s body opening up for him, concentrated on the intense pleasure he felt seeping up from his groin.

“Look at the dragon,” said Viktor.

Charlie opened his eyes. The little dragon model whirled towards him, eyes glinting. He thrust again into Viktor, groaned. The dragon model let out a blast of fire, but this time, the blast was magnified by Viktor’s spell, illuminating the entire room, fire licking out towards Charlie. The blast bushed past their arms, and Charlie winced, pulled up, until he realized the fire was cool, magicked to only appear dangerous. His heartbeat continued to accelerate, images of the Welsh Green flashing in amongst the visions Viktor was providing, but knowing the dragon fire was not dangerous freed up something inside him. He knew what Viktor was trying to do, hoped it might work. He started to pump steadily into Viktor, generating intense friction.

“This is hard,” he huffed to Viktor.

“It is not supposed to be easy,” Viktor replied. “It is supposed to help you.”

Charlie threw his head back as another flash of dragon fire swept over them and the room rocked with an echoing roar. He thrust deep into Viktor, trying to keep his eyes fixed on the Fireball. The creature’s beady eye challenged him, and Charlie stared back, willing himself to defeat the fear.

Charlie knew what he needed. He pulled out of Viktor, drew him around so they were face-to-face, and smothered him in a deep, aggressive kiss. Charlie leaned Viktor back against the dresser, looped his arm beneath his left leg, pulled it up to open him, and thrust in, looking straight into Viktor’s eyes. The room was filled was the distinct throat rattle of a Vipertooth.

“Help me,” he panted to Viktor, thrusting again. Viktor was breathing quickly, barely holding himself up against the bureau, but managed to mutter another spell. Charlie felt the blast of Viktor’s conjured dragon fire cover them, encapsulate them in blue flame. He pounded madly into Viktor, letting his terror transform into an intense, powerful orgasm. As Charlie came, the mad sounds of a wild dragon colony swirled around them like a chorus. The waves of his climax poured through Charlie in rhythm with the grunts and snorts surrounding them.

Viktor lifted himself up as Charlie slid out of him, wrapped his arms around Charlie’s moist, heaving chest, and kissed him, deep and soft.

“Next time you see a dragon, you will have a better memory than being burned. You will remember me,” said Viktor. Charlie leaned in to Viktor, covering him with his coarse hands and lips, thankful.

“Next it is your turn,” Viktor said, fingers trailing down Charlie’s chest.

Charlie was already planning how to outdo him.

 

It was midsummer, so the timing was perfect for Viktor’s flight therapy.

Charlie started simply, with some great sex associated with his brooms. It didn’t feel very risky or therapeutic though, really just more like a rather uncomfortable but enjoyable shag on the wood floor near the broom rack. Charlie would have to raise the stakes.

“We are going out for supper tonight,” he told Viktor a few days later.

Charlie had arranged the evening earlier in the day, and anticipation was already driving him to distraction.

It was warm at dusk, Charlie suggested they wear loose, light robes. He wouldn’t tell Viktor where they were going, which he could see bothered Viktor slightly, as he was slouched a bit more than usual. Charlie grabbed him roughly around his waist, gave him a good-natured bite on the nose, and quickly apparated them to their destination.

They appeared on a stretch of empty heath near a small crop of boulders. Charlie had stashed his supplies amongst the rocks- a small basket of food, a couple of bottles of lager, a few other special items. Of course, there was also Viktor’s custom Firebolt with the handle worn in just the right places and the plush cushioning charms. Charlie had buzzed around on it a few times while Viktor was out of the flat. It was pure joy to fly.

The stars were just appearing, the air was warm, and the scent of heather and grasses was strong. Charlie breathed it in. He had always felt most at home in the wilderness. He reached over and smacked Viktor’s ass, smiling.

“Therapy,” he said.

Viktor looked nervous. Charlie led Viktor to the rock outcropping and pulled out the simple supper he had packed: pears, cheese, sausages, lager, and bread. They ate sitting on the ground leaning against the rocks. During the meal, Charlie pointed out the planets and constellations to Viktor, who had never studied astronomy. Charlie had become quite an expert during his years out in the open with the dragons. Talking about the night sky, he felt a twinge of homesickness for the reservation for the first time since his accident.

“That bright spot that does not twinkle, that is Jupiter. Over there is Cassiopeia, see the W shape? She’s upside down with her skirts over her head.” Viktor laughed. “That one there is that poncy git Hercules. That bright band across the sky is the light from our arm of the Milky Way galaxy.” Charlie leaned back against the rocks, arms outstretched, and pointed straight up. “Directly overhead, that is Draco, the dragon. He never sets, just endlessly circles Polaris.” Charlie fell silent.

“I forget you are a scientist,” Viktor said, looking at Charlie.

“Hardly,” Charlie replied. “I’m just hired muscle at the colony. I’ve just always been fascinated with the stars.”

“I think you are more than that,” Viktor murmured as he leaned over, rested his hand on Charlie’s crotch, and kissed him, that kiss, the kiss that meant he was ready for more. Anticipation had built in Charlie all day, and blood flooded to his groin. They leaned against the rocks for several minutes, enjoying the feel of soft mouth on mouth, patient hands on hair.

Keeping Viktor locked in a deep, long kiss, Charlie grabbed his wand and silently accio’ed the Firebolt and his extra supplies from behind a boulder. He let the broom fall to the ground next to them as he raised himself up to his knees, pulling Viktor with him.

Charlie snuck his hands under Viktor’s robes, let out a snort of laughter.

“Nothing on under your robes?” he teased. “You slag, rather presumptuous, I’d say.”

“I believe I will find nothing under your robes either,” said Viktor. To prove his point, Viktor lifted Charlie’s robes up and over his head, and Charlie raised his arms to let himself be undressed. Sure enough, Charlie was naked underneath. Being disrobed by Viktor outdoors in the warm night air brought Charlie’s cock fully to life.

Charlie eased Viktor’s robe open and off as well, so that they were both naked, kneeling in the low brush. Viktor was only partially hard, his prick lying sideways in his think crop of hair, and Charlie knew he was nervous about what was planned for him. Charlie moved in, pressing his bare skin against Viktor’s, running his hands up the sensitive sides of his chest, dotting his face and neck with soft kisses. Viktor’s body was a bit stiff, but he responded with a moan.

Still kneeling, Charlie maneuvered himself behind Viktor, keeping in close contact, until he was spooned in behind him, chest to back, thigh to thigh, prick to ass. He snaked his arms around Viktor’s chest and Viktor leaned back into him, resting his head on Charlie’s shoulder.

“Do you trust me?” Charlie asked in Viktor’s ear.

“Da,” Viktor sighed.

“You can tell me to sod off any time and I will,” Charlie said, and he kissed Viktor’s neck. “I want to try something.”

He leaned down and grabbed the extra items he had brought along, several long strips of soft silk. Still kissing Viktor’s shoulder and neck, he worked the longest piece around them and bound it with his wand. They were tied together at the chest. Viktor stiffened up, looked down at the binding and turned his head to Charlie.

“Should I go on?” asked Charlie.

Viktor took deep breath. “I trust you,” he said, and relaxed back against Charlie.

Using his wand, Charlie quickly bound them together at each thigh, each ankle, and the waist. Viktor’s hands reached back and rested on Charlie’s hips, his fingernails digging in just a little.

There was one more step. Charlie grabbed the wide strip of black silk from the ground. “You have to do what I do now, and I don’t think you should see what’s next,” he said, and placed it over Viktor’s eyes, blindfolding him. The fingernails dug in a little deeper.

“Don’t worry. I won’t fall, and I won’t let you get hurt. I’m here to make you feel good, as you recall? You know I want to outdo your little dragon show,” said Charlie, and he felt Viktor’s body relax a little in front of him, shake with a silent chuckle.

Charlie was hard, his cock compressed between their bound bodies. He eased the Firebolt over and lifted his knee, bring Viktor’s knee with it, placing the broom under them. He guided Viktor’s hands to the broom handle, which he grasped onto in a perfect right-handed Quidditch grip, thumbs interlaced. Charlie smiled and gently kicked up, letting the broom float about a meter off the ground. Their toes were still resting in the grass.

“Ready?” Charlie asked. Viktor’s head swiveled around as the broom rose up a bit more, pulling their feet off the ground.

“I’ll just let us hover here for now, Viktor,” said Charlie. “How does it feel?” He reached around and wrapped his fingers around Viktor, stroked him once. He moaned, and Charlie felt Viktor’s prick stiffen in his confident grip.

“It is good,” Viktor said.

Charlie muttered a quick lubrication spell, and his hand slid more easily along Viktor’s think shaft, teasing him along. Very slowly, Charlie allowed the broom to rise a few feet higher, away from the ground. He caressed Viktor’s prick, from base to tip as they rose. Viktor’s breath was coming fast, and Charlie could feel the thin sheen of sweat that now coated his body.

He moved his hand a little faster and let the broom move a little higher. Viktor would be able to feel the flying motion now, know that Charlie was taking him up. His back tensed against Charlie’s chest and stomach. With his other hand, Charlie reached up and rubbed at Viktor’s shoulder to calm him.

The warm night air enveloped them as Charlie moved the broom up, drifting over the overwhelming darkness of the heath below them, slowly bringing Viktor off. He leaned his head against Viktor’s back, running his lips over his shoulder blades, over the site of his injury on his spine, moving his hand at a steady and mounting pace on Viktor’s prick.

Viktor writhed on the cushion of air between him and the broom handle, grinding against Charlie’s aching cock, wriggling in the binding holding them together. Charlie gasped and moved his hand faster, urging the Firebolt forward at the same time. They continued to climb.

Charlie brought his other hand around Viktor’s waist and cupped it under his balls, gently tugging. Viktor’s head was thrown back over Charlie’s shoulder now, his breath coming in short little gasps. Charlie knew he was close. He pulled one hand away.

“Not yet,” he said. With his free-hand, Charlie loosened the blindfold, let it flutter to the ground far below. Viktor opened his eyes and gasped. They were about fifty feet up, moving forward through the clear night sky. Viktor’s body was completely still. He even stopped breathing. Charlie also held his breath, stilled his hand.

“We are flying,” Viktor stated at last, and Charlie could hear the smile on his face. He responded by giving Viktor’s prick a firm stroke. He moaned.

Before Viktor could start to think too much about his situation, Charlie muttered a final binding spell, and one last silk cord appeared and wrapped itself around the base of Viktor’s prick. Charlie gave the binding a tug to tighten it, and Viktor convulsed with pleasure.

“Da eba,” he groaned in Bulgarian, pushing back against Charlie’s body, pumping his bound prick through Charlie’s moist, hot hand.

Charlie felt Viktor take control of the broom then, send them shooting forward and up towards the stars. Charlie ground himself into Viktor’s flesh, his hands working Viktor’s thick and oozing cock, tugging the silk bindings, his own prick full and hot rubbing between their bodies. He gave himself over to the feeling of flying. The night breeze sweeping over them, tickling his skin, was too much. Charlie couldn’t control it, let himself erupt against Viktor’s back just as the first drops of Viktor’s come spurted over his hands. Viktor, usually quiet during sex, howled out, and the Firebolt spun and stopped in mid-air as their bodies emptied themselves.

Panting, Charlie leaned in against Viktor, wrapping his arms around his sturdy body, and released all of the binding spells tying them together. “You are flying,” he said quietly in Viktor’s ear. They were hovering several hundred feet up, and Viktor controlled the broom. Charlie’s only regret about his plan was that he could not see the expression on Viktor’s face. “How is your back?”

“This worked well, Charlie. I forgot to even worry about myself,” huffed Viktor, and Charlie laughed, pressing his face into Viktor’s sturdy back. “But I will not concede this contest to you. I believe I was equally successful.”

“I suppose a re-match is needed then,” Charlie replied.

“I suppose,” said Viktor, turning the broom towards the ground and starting them slowly drifting towards the heath.

 

They were in therapy for months. It passed the time.


	6. Winter

Viktor was going to the general try-outs for a B-level reserve team in Liverpool.

He had been flying every day, sometimes with Charlie, sometimes alone, usually clothed, but not always. He was slower and more cautious than he had been before his accident, but the underlying brilliance of his flying was still there. Charlie could see it in the way he held his seat, and the casual confidence of his grip, the way his body looked in the air, like he belonged there.

Charlie accompanied him to the pitch for the try-outs, sitting high in the stands, trying to remain inconspicuous. A couple of reporters, from the Prophet and Witch Weekly, showed up to photograph the return of the great Viktor Krum, but Viktor ignored them, focusing on the drills being run by the team captains, capturing the Snitch easily in several runs. Charlie was proud. He made the team easily.

Charlie owled Johan later that evening, asked if he could come out for a day to get on his feet again at the reservation. Johan invited him out the next week. Viktor came with him. Viktor sat with him in the outer pens, just watching the dragons being brought in and out, all afternoon. Viktor watched from behind the safety wards as Charlie helped Misha to medicate a young Horntail. Charlie made it through without even breaking a sweat. The terror was gone, broken.

After that, Charlie started apparating out to the reservation once a week.

“Things are working out for us, Viktor,” Charlie said one day in early winter, as they lounged in bed after a bout of Viktor-inspired morning sex.

“Happiness is as near as snow,” Viktor replied.

Charlie looked over at him. “What the bloody hell does that mean?” he asked.

Viktor shrugged, said, “You know my English,” kissed Charlie.

The next day was the first snowfall of the year.


	7. You Know Bill

They were going to The Burrow for a joint party for Charlie and Bill’s birthdays.

“You will get it over with,” Viktor encouraged. “All of once.”

“All at once,” Charlie corrected.

“Exactly,” Viktor replied.

 

Walking into The Burrow with Viktor, carrying a rack of butterbeer and a bag of crisps, Charlie felt vivid. He felt electric. The bright flare of Viktor, of bringing him home, illuminated every color and shape in the familiar landscape of his childhood.

He had been to this same party with these same people dozens of times, but he realized now he had been sleepwalking on every previous occasion. This time, he was present.

Besides Charlie’s siblings and their families, his parents had invited a number of his old school chums and many of the Order members. In the corner he spotted Remus and Snape, but he turned his back on that issue.

His mum was bustling around greeting everyone and floating platter after platter of food from the kitchen. She gave both Charlie and Viktor light kisses on the cheek as she maneuvered through the crowded sitting room. “Happy Birthday, darling. Viktor, it was kind of you to come. You boys put your things on the counter and go help your father. He is trying to light candles with those Muggle matches again, Merlin help us.”

 

It was a very enjoyable party. After all, the Weasleys had always known how to entertain a crowd.

There were a few landmines for them both to navigate. Charlie traveled through the rooms, matching his moves to counter Remus, who seemed eager to have a chat. He noticed Hermione spent a good deal of time with one eye on Viktor, and caught Viktor staring at her a few times as well. Viktor had been open about their history, but had yet to be in a situation where the two of them might end up speaking to each other alone. Not that Charlie was worried.

It was a relief to tell his dad about going back to work, the new energy he had for the dragons.

Viktor’s side had been doing quite well, and scouts from Puddlemere and Falmouth had come to the last match to watch him. Charlie reminded himself to appear only as proud as a flatmate as he shared this news with Percy, Fred, and Angelina.

His mum had assembled a collection of birthday cards sent by his friends all over the world. There was even a short note from The Claw. It said, “You are healed now, and no longer need me. Congratulations.”

Bill nudged him in the side when he and the family arrived, asked him how he was holding together. Charlie wrapped his arm around his brother’s neck and said, “Good enough to make you wish you were me.”

 

Remus cornered him by the crisps, leaning against the wall with his pint, eyes averted, as if they were spies exchanging rendezvous instructions.

“How are you?” Remus asked, his voice confidential and low.

“Don’t do that, Remus,” Charlie said.

Remus looked up. “What?”

“Ask in that tone, as if I’m expected to share some meaningful tripe about getting over you and moving on and being happy for you and all is forgiven. We are allowed to just talk to each other without the drama you know.”

“Oh,” Remus replied, straightening up and grabbing a handful of crisps. “Sure.”

“To answer your question, I’m quite well, thank you. My back doesn’t bother me too much, and I’m going back to work part-time,” Charlie also grabbed a few crisps and crunched on them thoughtfully. “Also the love and all the shagging.”

Remus looked up, unable to hide the brief look of hurt in his eyes. “You’re in love?” Charlie nodded. “With whom?”

Charlie felt a twinge of shame. He was enjoying this moment. He bit into a crisp and turned his eyes to Viktor, who was in animated conversation with Harry. From the hand gestures, it was clear they were discussing Quidditch.

“Viktor Krum?” Remus whispered. “He’s…?” There was quite a pause.

Charlie flicked his eyebrows up. “What? A knob jockey? Mattress-muncher? Bum-boy? Bill has an entire vocabulary lesson on the terms if you need some assistance,” Charlie added.

Remus was silent, staring at Viktor, and Charlie could see his wheels churning. Remus had always been trapped inside his head.

“Hey, speaking of bum-boys, everything alright with…?” Charlie nodded his head towards Snape, who was enthroned in a flowered recliner across the room. As they looked over, Snape directed an uneasy scowl at Bill and Fleur’s two-year-old daughter, who was standing at the arm of his chair trying to hand him a half-eaten pickle.

Charlie watched as Remus smiled, a secret, intimate smile. He had never smiled like that for Charlie, not in two years. “Yeah, it’s alright,” Remus said. The smile spoke of something deeper than ‘alright’, but Charlie dismissed that thought, feeling brief reflexive jealousy. Then he looked over at Viktor, and wondered if his face lit up in the same way. It felt like it might.

“So we’re okay, Remus. If you hadn’t been a selfish arse, I never would have met Viktor. Things have a way of working out,” Charlie said.

“I suppose they do,” replied Remus, and gave Charlie a weak grin. He was still looking over at Snape when Charlie walked off.

 

They had agreed this would be as good a time as any to tell the family, but now that the moment had arrived, Charlie was frozen.

“Are your ready?” asked Viktor, sitting next to Charlie on the stairs after the meal was cleared away.

Charlie took a deep breath, looked at Viktor, nodded. “I’ll talk to Mum first, she’ll be the hardest,” he said, rising and starting towards the kitchen, feeling as if it were towards his doom. All reasonable-terror-from-near-fatal-injuries aside, nothing could scare him more than his mother.

Viktor trailed close behind. “I should wait here?” he asked, and Charlie nodded.

“Listen in if you can, rescue me if I need it,” Charlie said. Viktor gave his shoulder a quick squeeze and sent him in.

Molly was bustling around the kitchen, scouring pots and platters clean with her wand. Charlie was pleased to find no one else was in the room, although Percy, Ron, and Hermione were visible through the archway to the dining room nearby, engrossed in conversation. Molly was humming a Celestina Warbeck song as she cleaned. She had been sipping mimosas all afternoon.

“Darling!” she beamed, hugging Charlie as he entered the room. “So old! How can it be, with me so young?” She smiled at her joke, pet Charlie on the cheek, and then clicked her tongue in disapproval as her eyes caught on the scarring at his neck. She touched the red marks lightly with her fingers.

Charlie intercepted and gently held the hand at his neck, his heart pounding. “Mum,” he plunged in, afraid to stop now, “we need to have a chat.”

“Sounds important,” Molly said, putting down her dishtowel and wand. “Everything all right?”

“Brilliant actually, best it’s ever been.” This was it. He cleared his throat. “I’m in love.”

Molly looked up at him and grinned, a slight twinkle in her eye. “Dear, yes, with Viktor. I know,” she said with a coy shrug and a playful elbow to the ribs. “Glad you finally decided to tell.”

Charlie was dumbstruck for a few moments, staring at his mother. “What do you mean, you know?”

“Well, I am your Mum,” she said with a little put-on frown, “Mum’s just know these things.”

He gave her an incredulous stare. “Mum?”

“Oh all right,” she said, grabbing up her dishtowel again. “Bill told me.”

“Bill?” Charlie asked, hoping he had heard her wrong.

Molly nodded. “Don’t be cross with him.”

“Fucking Bill!” Charlie’s hands clenched. He felt his face redden.

“Language, Charlie,” said Molly.

“Fantastic. I suppose he made an announcement over supper one night.”

“Charlie.”

“By the way, fascinating news! Charlie’s queer. Trusted me enough to tell me, so I’ll teach him. Ha!”

“Charlie!” Molly’s voice cut through Charlie’s ranting. She laid a hand on his shoulder, while the other smoothed through his hair. “Charlie, look at me.” She grabbed his chin. “Who cares how I found out? It was odd for me at first, I’ll admit, not what I’d planned for you, but I’ve had quite a while now to get used to the idea. I’ve thought it all out. I love you, and this makes you happy. You are in love. It’s wonderful.” She paused. “I’m your Mum.” She folded him in her warm embrace, and Charlie was enveloped in the scent of lavender and flour and childhood. He calmed his breathing, leaned his head on her shoulder in relief and amazement, sighed deeply and wrapped his arms around her.

“That’s it,” he said, and realized it was done, she knew, it was out in the open. He let out a long breath, one he had been holding for years. “I love you, too.” They stayed there for long moment.

Molly released Charlie from her arms, and stepped back, swiping at her eyes with the dishcloth. Charlie smiled.

“And no, Bill did not announce it over supper, but I don’t know who else he has told about you and Viktor,” Molly said, rather too loud. “You know how Bill likes to talk.”

It suddenly occurred to Charlie that the gentle buzz of conversation from Percy, Ron, and Hermione in the dining room had died away. Charlie turned his head towards them, found all three faces staring back at him.

“What?” he asked with trepidation.

Percy eased his hand into the air, avoiding meeting Charlie’s eyes. “Bill told me, too,” he said, sliding his spectacles back up his nose. “We’d had a few, you know.” His face had turned the color of beets. “But I kept it quiet, Charlie, I swear.”

Incredulous, Charlie turned to Ron, who threw his hands up in self-defense. “I’d already sort of guessed, Bill just confirmed it,” said Ron. “I mean, you’ve been living together for a year in a one bedroom flat. Didn’t really take divination.” He glanced at Hermione for help.

“Yeah, um, and Viktor told me he thought he maybe fancied blokes back when we were pen friends,” added Hermione. “So, we just assumed…”

Viktor chose this moment to stick his head in at the door, and all eyes turned to him.

“Do you need me to rescue you now?” he asked Charlie, in his most sincere tone.

There was a short silence. Hermione cracked first, with a sudden burst of laughter that brought forth grins and giggles from everyone in he room.

“Apparently not, as my entire family has been fully informed by Bill of every detail of my life. Oh, except that you took care of informing Hermione,” replied Charlie, dropping into a chair and plowing his hands through his hair.

“Oh yes, she was the first I told,” said Viktor, smiling over at Hermione.

“She’s married to my brother, and you never told me this?” Charlie asked.

George’s stocky form appeared from the sitting room. “Told you what? What’s all the fun without me?”

“Charlie’s gay and he’s in love with Viktor,” summarized Percy.

George feigned shock. “What? Charlie ‘Worst Ever Advice About Women’ Weasley?” He patted Charlie on the back. “Hope Viktor loves you in return. Otherwise this is going to be horribly embarrassing later,” he whispered, and winked at Viktor.

“Let me guess, Bill told you,” said Charlie.

“Well, yes,” admitted George, “but I’m also alive, with eyes and ears and a brain. Oh, and I knew when you were dating Remus.”

Charlie shook his head, horrified.

“Ooo, I knew that too!” said Molly, clapping her hands. “He was too old for you, though, dear.”

“So I have no secrets here,” said Charlie.

“Doesn’t seem so, mate,” replied George.

Molly trotted to the door of the kitchen, shouting, “Fred, Fleur, Ginny, do come in here and hear Charlie’s news!”

Viktor took the seat next to Charlie as the swirl of Weasley family chatter rose in a crescendo around them. He threw his arm over Charlie’s shoulder and let his hand rest in his hair in the old familiar way. Charlie looked at him and smiled.

“Do I need to rescue you?” Viktor asked again.

“Yes, please,” said Charlie.

Viktor leaned in and brushed a soft kiss across Charlie’s lips.

“Aww, look at that. Adorable,” Molly crooned, and she clapped her hands again, a sappy grin on her face. Charlie winced and Viktor smiled.

Suddenly, Fred froze in dramatic fashion, right in the center of the room, shushing to get everyone’s attention. “Wait, everyone. Quiet down.” His voice was an exaggerated whisper. “Don’t let Dad hear. He doesn’t know and he’s weird about this sort of thing.”

Charlie blanched. “What? You all know and Dad doesn’t?”

Fred shook his head ominously for about five seconds before giving it up, cracking a broad smile, and saying, “Got you! Of course he knows! Who’d you think noticed your oh-so-secret hand holding at supper last month?” Laughter followed and the crowd burst back into animated conversation. Fred ran into the sitting room, shouting, “Dad, come here!”

Charlie leaned in to Viktor. “Take me away from these nutters. I remember now why I spent ten years in Romania.” Viktor smiled.

Just then, Bill ambled into the kitchen, and an ominous, “Oooo…” erupted from the assembled group.

“What?” Bill replied, looking around, confused. “What did I do?”

 

They apparated a few blocks from home.

“You did not tell of our bonding,” Viktor said as they walked towards their flat.

“With that response, I think they’ll be cross that they weren’t included. We may have to do some sort of ceremony and invite them all.” Charlie grimaced. “I couldn’t face their disappointment. We’ll tell them at Christmas.”

Viktor traced his fingers around Charlie’s upper arm, where the tattooed band symbolizing their commitment was hidden under his robes and cloak.

“You are lucky.”

“I know.”

They stood still for a moment in the chilly winter evening, just breathing, just standing up, just being together.

Then, with a smile, Viktor bolted, yelling, “First to the door chooses the reward!” He already had a good head start.

Charlie ran hard, but thought maybe this time he would let Viktor win.


End file.
